


The Final Project

by stjarna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aurora Borealis, Best Friends, Bickering, Field test, Friendship, Fun, Gen, Northern Lights, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Random & Short, SHIELD Academy, Scientific Research, more bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fun little random story set during Simmons’ and Fitz’s last semester at the Academy. There’s friendship, bickering, a little bit of science, and more bickering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Final Project

“I _still_ can’t believe you convinced them that we should do this field test ourselves,” he says grumpily and lets the heavy backpack with parts of their equipment drop to the snow-covered ground. He is wearing a tight dark bodysuit and facemask.

“The body-temperature regulating camouflage suits are our final project,” she says while she pulls out her laptop from her own backpack and connects it to a small portable charger. She is dressed in the same outfit. “Running the test ourselves proves that we have _complete_ faith in our design and that we are _dedicated_ to our careers as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.”

He stops unpacking the backpack and stands up straight. “Yes, _in the lab_!” he says and gestures with his hand into the distance, where civilization is hiding thousands of miles away, “S.H.I.E.L.D. agents _in the lab_. At Sci-Ops.” He bends back over his backpack and keeps unpacking it, while continuing his rant, “A lovely _air-conditioned_ lab, with access to running water and _real food_.” He pulls out one of the food rations and angrily waves the little flat package at Simmons. “ _Not_ agents in the wilderness. _Not_ in arctic climate, _not_ in sub-zero temperatures with wind chill levels down to _minus forty_ or less.” He stands back up and points his finger at her, “In the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve never shown _any_ interest in the great outdoors. And _I_ haven’t exactly accumulated survival skills either.” He stretches out both arms to the side and gestures to the snow-covered landscape around them “ _Bears_ , Simmons! There are _bears_ around here!”

She looks at him and rolls her eyes, “There are _no_ bears here, Fitz!” she says reassuringly, “They scanned the area and set up a defense field.”

“Yeah,” he replies doubtingly, “maybe they just _told_ us there were no bears, to make us _feel_ safer! Maybe they’re trying to weed out the good from the bad.” He nervously turns around and faces the edge of the clearing, “What was that noise?”

“Would you _please_ relax, Fitz?” she pleads, “We are _perfectly_ safe here! They’re probably monitoring us _right now_ , ready to swoop in and save us **_IF_** a bear should _somehow_ manage to break their safety barrier. Do you _really_ think they would risk losing two cadets to a _bear attack_?

He grunts instead of replying. Begrudgingly, he bends back down over his backpack and continues unloading and setting up their equipment.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, night has fallen and darkness has set. They’re both sitting on the snowy, frozen ground, next to each other. Simmons is focused on the screen displaying the data they have been collecting from their suits.

“The test is running _exactly_ as expected,” she says contently, “The incoming data conforms _exactly_ with our theoretic results. Our body temperatures have been steady at a comfortable and safe level and the suits have adjusted perfectly to changing outdoor influences and declining evening temperatures.”

“This is even worse than I thought,” Fitz says, unwilling to acknowledge Simmons’ positive feedback, “Tastes like cardboard.” He is eating one of the food rations, his disgruntled face grimacing at the taste and texture.

“Come one, Fitz. Only a few more hours,” Simmons’ voice is calm and soft as she speaks, “We’re doing this for _science_. It’s _exciting_.”

He gives her a skeptic look in return.

“And just imagine,” Simmons adds, “once we are done with this project: _we’re done_! Weaver said so! We’re the best S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy has to offer!”

After a thoughtful pause and a deep sigh, Fitz raises his hand and exclaims, “Youngest cadets to ever graduate! And then finally off to Sci-Ops like we’ve always wanted!”

“ _Damn straight_!” Simmons replies and high-fives him.

She wrinkles her forehead and looks at Fitz, “I’m too British to say something like that, aren’t I?”

“I would have to agree.”

Simmons continues to stare at Fitz’s covered face for a moment, “You know, the facemask _does_ look a bit silly,” she comments.

“It’s camouflage,” Fitz replies somewhat grumpily, “Unless we come up with cloaking technology for clothes, aesthetics should not guide us in our designs. Dark and tight seems like a good choice.”

“Cloaking!” Simmons exclaims excitedly.

“Yeah, well, that kind of cloaking tech is still a few years away at least.”

“Well, we should nonetheless put it on our list, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I supposed that’s true.” Fitz grabs his laptop, opens a document, and types a few words. “Added to the list: Check!”

Simmons nods, “Excellent!”

She takes in a deep breath of the freezing cold air and lets her eyes wander around the perimeter. “Oh, look at that, Fitz! Aurora Borealis.” Her eyes stare at the night sky where a band of green shimmering lights dance across the horizon in front of a sea of stars. “I’ve never seen it before.”

Fitz looks up himself, “Me neither.” He pauses and takes in the Northern Lights, “Wow,” he comments, “It almost seems magical.”

She briefly looks at him, then back at the sky, “Well, it’s the ionization and excitation of nitrogen and oxygen atoms in the upper atmosphere, which is caused by trajectories of charged particles, mainly electrons and protons, from the magnetosphere into the thermosphere and exosphere.”

He ever-so-slowly turns his head to look at her and raises his eyebrows, “I know what’s causing them, Simmons,” he says and gestures towards the Northern Lights above them. “I’m no idiot. I merely stated that they _seem_ magical. Not that they actually _are_.”

She faces him, “Of course. I’m sorry. You’re right,” she gazes back at the sky, “It’s quite spectacular… beautiful … magical,” she adds and nods in agreement.

For a moment they both fall silent.

“That alone makes this whole trip worth it, don’t you think?” she finally asks, still staring at the shimmering lights that now also shine down on them in hues of red and yellow.

“No,” he replies sternly, “ _This_ ,” he points at the sky, “ _is_ breathtaking, but the _only_ thing that makes spending tonight in the wilderness surrounded by bears worth it, is the part about us graduating once we’re back home, and I’m in my heated room, after taking a long hot shower, and eating the largest sandwich the world has ever seen.”

She chuckles, “For the _last_ time, Fitz: We’re safe from the bears!”

She looks at her watch, “Only about 8 hours before the helicopter picks us up. We should begin to test how the suits work during sleep.”

“Right,” he replies, “So, 4 hours of sleep for each of us. I can take the first shift.”

“Well, I’m _perfectly_ capable of taking the first shift myself.”

“Oh, not that again!” Fitz rolls his eyes, “I didn’t offer to take the first shift as some kind of sexist remark that I was more capable of doing it. I merely offered to take the first shift.” He invitingly gestures at Simmons, “ _You_ can take the first shift.”

“So, now you’re _graciously offering_ me the first shift?”

“Oh for crying out loud, Simmons!” he exclaims, raising his hands in frustration, “Do we have to have this discussion _every single time_ we’re trying to split tasks?”

“Well, if you would _stop_ offering to do things _first_ and we would simply use the method we _always_ end up using to determine these things right away….”

“Ugh. Fine,” He announces defeat, “Let’s get this over with. Rock-paper-scissors. Winner takes the first shift.”

He extends his left hand and places his right fist on top. She mimics his action and counts “One. Two. Three.”

She draws scissors. He draws rock.

“There,” he says, relieved that the argument is over, “I take the first shift.”

“Fine,” she acknowledges and begins to lie down to sleep.

He grabs his laptop to be able to keep an eye on the data from her bodysuit, and places it on his lap.

“And by the way,” he mumbles, “You _do_ realize that you use scissors 67% of the time?”

She sits up straight again and looks at him, “You’re keeping statistics on rock-paper-scissors?”

“I’m a scientist! We keep statistics on everything.”

“Everything that’s _relevant_! How is _that_ relevant?”

He glares at her, “Because it means that **_IF_** I wanted to beat you at a certain time in rock-paper-scissors, I would know what gives me the best chances.” She squints her eyes and lets him continue, “Let’s say, for example, that a helicopter is _supposed_ to pick us up in,” he looks at his watch, “7 hours and 53 minutes. And I want to take the _first_ four-hour shift, because there’s a chance that they will not be on time, which means if I can sleep during the _second_ shift, I get to sleep longer! But I _know_ that you’ll perceive me _offering_ to take the first shift as some kind of sexist remark, then getting you to play rock-paper-scissors instead, knowing that you’ll likely choose scissors, means I get what I wanted and … I. Potentially. Get. To sleep. _Longer_!”

She silently holds his stare for a moment, then shakes her head, “You’re unbelievable!”

“Yes maybe,” he shrugs, “But you can’t call me sexist!”

She chuckles, “I suppose that’s true.”

“Now, you’re wasting precious sleeping time, if I may say so.”

“Good night Fitz,” she smiles and lies back down, looking up at the night sky.

After a few seconds, she whispers, “It really looks magical.”

“Yes well, electrons, protons, magnetosphere, thermosphere, exosphere,” he mumbles.

“Oh shut up!” she says and jokingly slaps his leg.

He grins down at her, “Good night, Simmons.”

Then he focuses on his laptop screen and the incoming data. A sudden noise startles him and he jerks his head around to stare into the darkness.

“There’s no bears, Fitz,” Simmons mumbles half-asleep.

His heartbeat slows down at the sound of her voice. He looks over to her. Her eyes are closed. He watches her as she slowly drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

An hour goes by. He keeps working, focused on the data, until he feels something brushing against his thigh. He looks down and sees that she has rolled onto her side, closer to him, her arm accidentally touching his leg.

He used to hate physical contact from anyone; dreaded hugs, even handshakes. But not from her. Something about her made him forget about most of his sociophobic ticks.

He smiles.

_Youngest cadets ever to graduate S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy; about to head to Sci-Ops._

He was looking forward to doing it all with her, his best friend.


End file.
